Now, I’m the grown-up.
Our 17 year old blind and deaf cat, Sandy, was just barely getting by on her 9th life these last few months. Along with her regular disabilities, she developed something akin to seizures this week and started sleeping for days at a time. When she did arise, she was all wobbly and fell down a lot. It was more sad than usual.
Today as I was watching her struggle to relax and to breath, and as I listened to her pitiful cry, I decided it was time to put her to sleep—in the vet sense of the word. She had not eaten or drunk anything for a long time, she could not leave her bed to use her litter box, and her fur was becoming matted from lack of self-care. I stroked her soft gray head, but she was unable to lift it to respond. I did hear a faint purr though, and I knew she felt my touch. I also knew that she was suffering. I hated to watch.
So…I lifted her uncooperative body into a cardboard box lined with a blanket and carried her to the car. It was at this moment that I was feeling very parent-like—and unsure of my decision. How was I to know that she wouldn’t rally and begin to make her rounds in the house and start running into walls and furniture again? How was I to know if she really was in pain? How was I to know if putting her to sleep was the right decision? I didn’t know..and that made it hard. Sometimes being the grown-up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
So I took her in. And I said a sweet goodbye. And I cried. And now she’s gone.
And I hope I made the right choice. It’s one of those things a parent’s got to do (right Mom?).
Goodbye, sweet Sandy! We will be missing you!